


Five times Sherlock couldn't get Joan off and the one time she did

by ClassyGirlsWearPearls



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bisexual John, F/F, Femlock, Femslash, Femslash February, Fingerfucking, Oral Sex, Orgasms, Shower Sex, Strap-Ons, There is a hint at potential Mystrade happening because that's my other kink, Vaginal Fingering, Virgin Sherlock, genderswapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1217311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassyGirlsWearPearls/pseuds/ClassyGirlsWearPearls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giving Joan an orgasm is tougher than Sherlock thought it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Genderswapping is my kink. It can be a gay couple or a het couple. I just love it.
> 
> As always, I own nothing, deep profuse apologies to those who do, blah blah blah.

They had begun just kissing in bed. Joan felt that for her first time, Sherlock should be introduced to the sensations slowly, rather than all at once as she normally preferred. Soft movements of lips against lips turned into Joan swiping a tongue across Sherlock’s lips and subsequently licking into Sherlock’s mouth. As Sherlock was distracted with that, Joan moved the hand on her hip under her shirt and stroked the skin at the base of her ribcage. Once Sherlock arched up into that, Joan moved her fingers up a bit to brush over the hardened bud of Sherlock’s right nipple. Sherlock mewled and pulled Joan tighter to her, arching her hips up for a bit of friction between her legs.

 

Taking that as her cue, Joan softened the kiss and began to pull back. Sherlock let out a moan of protest, but Joan ignored it. She slid down a bit so their bodies never stopped touching and hiked up the loose tank top that Sherlock wore to bed. She kissed the creamy skin as it was bared and Sherlock stroked a hand through her hair, encouraging her. Joan’s fingers were teasing her nipples and she was pushing the tank top up higher with her nose, kissing all the while.

 

Unexpectedly, Joan drew back and settled on her knew in between Sherlock’s legs. She hooked her fingers under the waistband of Sherlock’s underwear and gently tugged them down. She had seen Sherlock naked before, but never out of a medical situation. She took a moment to appreciate the sight before her and inhaled deeply, palming herself a bit.

 

Once the underwear was off, Joan reached a shaking hand over to brush lightly over her labia. Sherlock keened and her hips stuttered. Joan grinned. Using only the tip of her finger, she nudged Sherlock’s labia majora aside and teased around the opening to her vagina, gathering Sherlock’s dampness on her finger as she did.

 

“Joan,” Sherlock gasped. “What are you doing?”

 

“Can I go in?” Joan asked.

 

“You _may_ ,” Sherlock retorted.

 

Joan pinched her hip with her free hand. “Cheeky. Maybe I’ll stop.”

 

“ _Noooooooo_ ,” Sherlock moaned brokenly. “Slowly, but yes please.”

 

Joan grinned and leaned down to press a kiss to each hipbone, and then she gently massaged the opening to Sherlock’s vagina before sticking her finger in to the first knuckle.

 

Sherlock gave a desperate gasp. She clenched at the intrusion and grabbed onto the sheet below her.

 

“Does that hurt?” Joan asked.

 

“Unusual,” Sherlock muttered. “Not bad.”

 

“Good,” Joan replied. “I won’t go in any more, but could I move a little bit?”

 

Sherlock bit her lip. “Give me a moment to adjust.”

 

“Of course,” Joan nodded.

 

After what felt like forever with just her first knuckle inside of Sherlock, Joan was finally given the okay to move. She moved her finger in spirals within Sherlock, and the woman opened her mouth as if to moan but instead was silent, only the column of her neck moving.

 

They continued like this for a few moments, with Joan mixing up how she moved her finger from time to time, when the index fingers of her other hand swiped at Sherlock’s clitoris. Sherlock screamed – _actually screamed_ – when this happened. Joan pulled back. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “Did that hurt? Some women are more sensitive than others.”

 

“No,” Sherlock answered, stuttering a bit on the “n.” “What was that?”

 

Joan froze. “Sherlock, have you ever, um, touched yourself?”

 

Sherlock shook her head, her curls flying back and forth wildly.

 

“That explains it,” Joan said. “I caught you off guard. I’m sorry. Do you want to stop?”

 

“No,” Sherlock said again. “That felt fantastic. Just do it lightly.”

 

With a nod, Joan began swirling her finger again and barely stroked Sherlock again. Sherlock let out a high pitched whine and her hips flew up, asking for more contact. Joan was more than happy to oblige. She began pumping her finger inside of Sherlock, sliding a bit past the first knuckle but not much more than that. She stimulated Sherlock by feeling the outside of her hood in order to keep from overwhelming her again.

 

Joan did this until it was evident that Sherlock was incredibly close to coming. Beads of sweat were forming at her hairline and she was squirming. Her hands were scrambling to grab onto grab onto something but she was only finding sheets and her flushed face showed her evident frustration. Normally with her sexual partners, Joan would continue to tease, but this was Sherlock’s first time, and apparently her first orgasm. Showing mercy, she slid her finger down from the hood and directly onto her clitoris, and Sherlock sobbed, “Oh my God, _Joan_!” and then she was coming and God it was the most fantastic thing that Joan had ever seen. Sherlock was arched up and shouting in a high pitched register that Joan didn’t even know her sultry contralto could reach, begging Joan not to stop and writhing in a way that made Joan throb in between her thighs.

 

Too soon, Sherlock was gasping from the post-orgasmic sensitivity, and Joan was reluctantly pulling her hands away. Sherlock laid spread eagle on the bed, her breaths shallow and frequent, he skin flushed pink, and small moans still escaping her lips. Joan crawled up to her, moved one arm closer to Sherlock’s side so she wouldn’t crush it, and stretched herself out next to her, her head on the pillow next to Sherlock’s. She traced her index finger, the one that had teased Sherlock’s clitoris, up and down her arm and kissed her shoulder lightly, waiting for Sherlock to sort through the new data she had acquired and come back to herself.

 

It didn’t take quite as long as Joan thought, but when she came back Sherlock flopped over on her side and was nose to nose with Joan.

 

“We must do this often,” Sherlock declared. “I’ve never felt anything so wonderful before. Your fingers are magical.”

 

Joan giggled. “I’m not complaining about doing this as often as possible.” To make her point, she moved her hips onto Sherlock, making sure that some of the wetness in between her legs was evident.

 

Sherlock sat up quickly. “Oh! Joan, I forgot that reciprocation is common during sexual encounters. Forgive me.” She maneuvered Joan onto her back and scrambled to sit in between Joan’s thighs, sitting cross legged.

 

“You don’t mess around,” Joan giggled.

 

Sherlock’s eyes went wide. Joan hated that look, the one Sherlock got when she perceived that she’d said or done something wrong but didn’t know where or why she had messed up. “Should I be doing this differently? I’ve never-”

 

Joan hauled herself up and silenced her with a kiss. “Shut up. Just shut up. You’re doing this just right. Any way you do this is going to be right because it’s you, moron. I like everything you do, Sherlock Holmes. Just do whatever you think feels right.”

 

Sherlock processed that while staring intently into Joan’s eyes, then nodded vigorously. With a quick peck to her lips, Sherlock eased Joan back on the bed. “May I prop your hips up on my lap? I’ll have a better view.”

 

Joan chucked. “Go for it. I’m yours.”

 

Sherlock grinned, then pulled Joan forward until her lower back was propped on her crossed legs and Joan’s legs were up in the air and hooked over Sherlock’s shoulders. Sherlock stared for a moment, clearly trying to figure out her next move. Joan was beginning to feel just a bit uncomfortable when Sherlock’s fingers swept from her perineum up to her clitoris, and she sucked in a harsh breath. Clearly pleased with herself for causing this reaction in Joan, she became a bit more confident, and soon she was touching Joan’s clitoris, obviously documenting her reactions to different types of touching and stimulation to the hardened little bundle of nerves.

 

“I need your fingers, Sherlock,” Joan gasped. “Two fingers, inside, just pump them in and out, and that’ll be perfect.”

 

Sherlock teased the entrance to Joan’s vagina for a moment, assessing the angle to put her index and middle fingers in, then suddenly thrust them in.

 

Normally Joan loved being fingered, but this time she shot up and screamed in pain.

 

Sherlock pulled back quickly and scrambled to the foot of the bed. “What?” Sherlock asked desperately, adopting that same look she had when she couldn’t figure out what she’d done wrong.

 

Joan couldn’t answer immediately. Her cervix was in too much pain.

 

Sherlock had felt the need to plunge in as fast as possible. Joan was generally a fan of this, but Sherlock’s fingers were a bit longer than the people with longish nails that she’d had sex with before. Without being able to accurately calculate the distance between her vaginal opening and her cervix, Sherlock had stabbed and accidentally scraped Joan’s cervix.

 

As she put pressure on the area just above it, even though she knew it wouldn’t do any actual good, Joan beckoned Sherlock over. Sherlock crawled slowly and then folded herself up about a foot away from Joan. Joan pulled her closer and embraced her, though Sherlock’s limbs remained a protective shield around her body.

 

“I don’t know what I did,” Sherlock said miserably. “I’m so sorry, Joan. I’m so sorry.”

 

Joan stroked her curls, smiling because Sherlock Holmes so rarely apologized. “Its fine,” Joan sighed. She explained the mistake Sherlock had made, being careful to not use words such as “wrong” or “mistake” while describing it. Sherlock looked mortified.

 

“Could I try again?” Sherlock asked meekly.

 

Joan shook her head. “I’m a little sore now. I’m sorry, Sherlock. It isn’t anything against you, I’m just in a bit of pain and I don’t think I’d be able to get past that to have an orgasm.”

 

Sherlock looked sorely disappointed. She finally unfolded her limbs and wrapped herself around Joan, straddling her legs and putting her arms tightly around her. She buried her face in Joan’s neck and planted gentle kisses there.

 

“Shall we go to sleep?” Joan asked. Sherlock stilled, then nodded. Joan laid back with Sherlock still wrapped around her, then she allowed Sherlock to rearrange both of them into a comfortable position where they were still touching, ankle to hips to shoulder.

 

 _Next time_ , Joan thought. _Next time she’ll get the hang of it_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan Is Sexually Frustrated: The Sequel.

They didn’t try to have sex for a few more days after that. Sherlock had become enamored with a case that had involved different colored eyeballs in their fridge, complete with an attached optic nerve. Joan didn’t want to know. She just left Sherlock to be with her eyeballs every day for five days with a kiss to the top of her head and a quick rub of her hand down her spine.

 

On the fifth day, Sherlock greeted Joan in the living room by shoving her up against the door, wrists held in Sherlock’s left hand and her hip clutched by Sherlock’s right hand. Joan breathed deeply just as Sherlock leaned in and kissed her hard.

 

“You’ve been gone an insufferable amount of time,” Sherlock growled, ducking her head down to nip at Joan’s jaw.

 

“I could say the same about you,” Joan responded, pushing her crotch onto Sherlock’s thigh for a bit of friction. “That case took _forever_.”

 

Sherlock snorted, and Joan recaptured her mouth. She licked inside, just behind Sherlock’s lips, and Sherlock groaned gorgeously.

 

“Bed, I think,” Joan panted into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock nodded in response and walked Joan backwards to her bedroom, depositing her on the bed roughly and climbing on top of her. They kissed for several more minutes, shedding clothes gradually. Once they were both naked, Joan hooked her ankle around Sherlock’s and roughly turned them over in order to take charge of the situation. Sherlock’s eyes were blown wide and she gasped hard.

 

Joan stuck her middle and index fingers in her mouth quickly. She knew that just saliva was not an adequate amount of lubricant usually, but she sensed that Sherlock was wet enough to make the slide in easier than usual.

 

She slid her fingers in gently, and Sherlock arched up into the intrusion. Joan worked them in very slowly, letting Sherlock enjoy the slide and the slight burn of full vaginal penetration for the first time. Once she was fully inside, she thrust her fingers in and out, making sure to be careful with Sherlock’s cervix and vaginal walls. As Sherlock began to squirm under her in earnest, Joan pulled her fingers out.

 

“You bastard,” Sherlock growled.

 

Joan chuckled. “Trust me.”

 

She kissed her deeply, distracting Sherlock from her frustration. Sherlock, feeling more confident in her ability to kiss, tentatively poked her tongue into Joan’s mouth. Thrilled, Joan smiled into the new intrusion and responded as enthusiastically as she could to encourage Sherlock. Sherlock pressed in a bit further, and Joan allowed her to take control. Soon she was completely distracted by the kissing. Joan too this opportunity to thrust her two fingers back inside Sherlock, who gasped.

 

Joan pulled back a bit so she could look into Sherlock’s eyes as she started fluttering her fingers inside of her. She felt out the spongy bit of tissue behind Sherlock’s pubic bone and rubbed, poked, and tapped. Sherlock writhed, trying to insert more of Joan’s fingers into her.

 

It wasn’t long before Joan could see that Sherlock was having trouble hanging on. “Look at me,” she sighed, admiring the way Sherlock was moving under her.

 

Sherlock’s eyes remained screwed shut.

 

“Sherlock, _look at me_ ,” Joan commanded.

 

Sherlock forced her eyes open and looked absolutely wrecked. She stared up at Joan and pled with her eyes for her to just let her come, but Joan wasn’t having it quite yet. She moved her fingers away from that spot and returned to just thrusting in and out. Sherlock groaned in frustration, digging the heels of her hands into her eyes.

 

“I’ll let you come if you look at me,” Joan promised.

 

Sherlock again forced her eyes to open and to stare at Joan. Gently, Joan moved her free hand to the area of skin just over her cervix and pressed down so there would be more friction where she needed it. She then resumed her motions over Sherlock’s g-spot and in less than a minute Sherlock screamed and her legs shot out and her heels dug into the mattress.

 

Gently, Joan removed her fingers from the lovely, wet mess that Sherlock had made and watched as Sherlock relaxed into her post-orgasmic bliss. She looked so sated and well-fucked and-

 

-so asleep.

 

Now it was Joan’s turn to dig her palms into her eyes. She knew she shouldn’t have pushed Sherlock the way she did but in the heat of the moment she had trouble controlling herself. Sherlock had just looked so wonderfully desperate under her and Joan wanted to ensure that she felt good.

 

Obviously at this point in Sherlock’s sexual lifetime, she had some limits that both of the women hadn’t figured out yet. Sherlock had also been on a case, meaning she had slept a minimal amount in the days since she had started that case.

 

Mentally kicking herself for not realizing that, Joan groaned and lay down next to Sherlock on the bed. Sherlock was practically spread eagle again, so Joan settled herself with her head on Sherlock’s shoulder again and wrapped her limbs around Sherlock. They were still both naked, and Joan pressed her wet crotch against Sherlock’s hip, sighing at the pressure and promising herself an earth shattering orgasm in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shower sex woot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not so much an inability to get someone off, more of an insecurity about it.

Joan woke before Sherlock for once. She smirked at the thought of her giving Sherlock such a massive orgasm that she fell asleep afterwards, but then that familiar tug between her legs started again and that smugness turned into frustration.

 

Sherlock was a surprise cuddler, and had wrapped herself tightly around Joan sometime during the middle of the night.  Needing both the bathroom and the detachable shower head in their bathroom, Joan tried to move out from under Sherlock without disturbing her. It didn’t work.

 

Sherlock grabbed her tightly and gasped, “Joan, that was incredible. You are fantastic. May I try now?”

 

Joan paused her movement. “Sherlock, what time do you think it is?”

 

“About five minutes after you assisted me in achieving orgasm?” Sherlock guessed.

 

“Try 8:15 the next morning,” Joan replied.

 

Sherlock’s head shot up and she squinted at the clock on the nightstand. Her face went pink (adorable, Joan thought) and she buried her face in Joan’s chest, muttering an apology. Joan knew her well enough to know that she was mortified and scratched her head.

 

“It’s alright, love. You’ll make it up to me.”

 

“Now?” Sherlock asked.

 

Joan nodded.  “I’m going to take a shower, and we have a detachable shower head. Want to watch?”

 

Sherlock looked confused for a moment, then her face lit up in comprehension and she nodded emphatically, jumping off the bed and pulling Joan up with her.

 

They decided to shower together rather than have Sherlock watch from the outside and get the floor wet. Joan skipped the washing part of her shower in favor of pushing Sherlock against the cold wall and snogging her senseless. Sherlock responded by grasping Joan’s behind and pulling her impossibly closer to her, using Joan’s thigh for friction.

 

Joan, seeing an opportunity to try something new, dropped to her knees. Sherlock stared at her blankly, and Joan had the distinct feeling that she had no idea what Joan was about to do to her. Grinning wickedly, Joan blew lightly on her labia and Sherlock shuddered, grabbing Joan’s shoulder for support. With a smile on her face, Joan flicked her tongue out somewhere around the opening of Sherlock’s urethra. From the angle her head was at, Joan could see Sherlock’s jaw drop but couldn’t discern anything else from her face.

 

“Alright?”

 

“Oh God, _yes_ ,” she sighed.

 

Joan nuzzled her nose in Sherlock’s folds and said, “Tell me if there’s something you don’t like. I can’t see your face from this angle.”

 

Sherlock nodded, and Joan removed her nose with one last deep inhale. She returned to lapping up and down, side to side, and teasing the hood so as not to overload Sherlock. Joan wriggled two fingers inside and twisted them, enjoying the harder squeeze on her shoulder as Sherlock sought out more support. She waited until Sherlock had steadied herself enough and had a good enough grip on her shoulder, and then she licked Sherlock’s clitoris and felt pressure on her other shoulder. She swirled her tongue around the bud and continued twisting her fingers inside of Sherlock, loving the squeeze and contractions of Sherlock’s vaginal walls.

 

Eventually, she eased her fingers out of Sherlock and replaced them with her tongue, moving her fingers up to lightly tickle her clit. Sherlock grabbed her tighter – there would probably be a bruise later – and thrust her hips down just for _more_.

 

Joan giggled and stiffened her tongue and increased the pressure she was putting on Sherlock’s clit. Less than a minute passed before Sherlock was groaning out an orgasm and Joan was using all of her strength to hold her up while working her through it. All too soon, she had to pull her tongue out of Sherlock and her fingers away, but not before giving the sensitive little bundle of nerves a light kiss.

 

Joan stood, and Sherlock leaned forward and gasped into her shoulder. When she was able to look up, she sighed contentedly and said, “That was rather enjoyable.”

 

“For you and me both,” Joan smiled.

 

Sherlock smiled tightly back, but she looked uncomfortable.

 

“What’s wrong?” Joan asked, concerned. “Did I hurt you?”

 

Sherlock shook her head emphatically. “It’s just that I haven’t had time to process the new information and I don’t believe I could adequately reciprocate using my mouth, and I don’t want to hurt you again which I’m sure I’ll do with my fingers.”

 

Joan kissed her lightly, just a chaste peck on the lips, and said, “You’re never obligated to do anything that you don’t want to do, Sherlock. Do you understand?” Sherlock nodded. “I’m glad. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to use you as a support.”

 

Sherlock looked confused. “What do you mean?”

 

“Have you ever studied the benefits of a detachable showerhead?”

 

“No, but I wondered why you installed one when we moved in.”

 

Joan chuckled. “Just watch.” She reached over blindly while still maintaining eye contact with Sherlock and grabbed the shower head. Switching it on, she started it at a low setting and brought it in between her legs. Sherlock glanced down as the water hit Joan, and then her eyes quickly flew up again to study Joan’s face. Joan hummed and laced the fingers of her free hand in with Sherlock’s. She leaned up and kissed her, allowing Sherlock to tentatively take control of it. Sherlock took the cue and cupped Joan’s cheek with her free hand, swiping her thumb back and forth below her eye socket.

 

Joan moaned into her mouth and twisted the knob on the shower head to a higher setting. She sighed into Sherlock’s mouth and began to kiss her way down her neck and to nip at her clavicle. She stayed there for a moment before admiring the skin that would bruise soon, and then Joan sucked a nipple into her mouth as she increased the power of the water.

 

Joan usually stayed on the third setting for the longest period of time, switching between Sherlock’s nipples and letting the water drift back to tease her vagina and let the water go into it, tickling the walls inside. She then pulled the shower head back to its original position and allowed it to resume a steady pressure on her clitoris. This brought her close, but it wasn’t enough to tease her over the edge. Sherlock seemed to sense this and brought Joan up by her chin to look her in the eye. With a lick to her jugular that could only be described as filthy in Joan’s mind, Sherlock whispered, “I’ve never seen you have an orgasm before, and I would very much like to as soon as possible.”

 

Joan moaned and let the water go to the highest power she was able to take. She had been so caught up in the other sensations of what had been happening that Joan had forgotten that she was holding Sherlock’s hand this entire time. As she stood there, moving her hips to get more of the water just where she needed it, she felt Sherlock’s free hand wrap around her and press flat into her lower back so she wouldn’t fall. This small act made Joan raise their lacked hands up to her lips and kiss Sherlock’s. Sherlock squeezed her hand and then withdrew her fingers, placing Joan’s hand on her shoulder for support and once again cupping her cheek. She leaned in and kissed Joan again, this time a bit more confidently than before, and that was enough to send Joan into a gasping, stuttering orgasm.

 

They stood there for several minutes, letting the water run over them until it had become lukewarm.

 

“We forgot to shower,” Joan giggled lazily.

 

“We can wash thoroughly when the water is warm again,” Sherlock said practically, reaching over to turn the handle to cut the water off. Joan hummed in response and heavily replaced the shower head onto its handle.

 

“Come on, you, let’s get you dried off,” Joan said, pulling Sherlock out by her wrist. Sherlock allowed herself to be pulled out and subsequently dried off, and as Joan moved to dry herself off, she reached over and snatched the towel from her.

 

“If I am unable to provide you with sexual release, allow me this,” Sherlock said, her eyes pleading.

 

Joan grinned. “Alright.” She let Sherlock dry her off a little awkwardly, and as Sherlock was carefully drying the insides of her thighs she blurted out, “You know that I’ll still think you’re the most wonderful person in the world if you can’t bring me off for a while. Not everyone is born a sex god.” Sherlock paused, and Joan worried that she had desperately messed up. She scratched her fingers in Sherlock’s hair and added, “I know you aren’t used to being anything but the best at whatever you do, but please believe me.”

 

“You’ve done so much for me,” Sherlock muttered. “I can’t even reciprocate.”

 

“I had an amazing time just now,” Joan pointed out.

 

“Yes, but you had to get yourself off,” Sherlock argued. “I merely watched.”

 

“You have to know that isn’t true,” Joan said. Sherlock didn’t reply and looked away. “Come on, come back to bed with me.”

 

“Joan, I don’t-” Sherlock began.

 

“I’m not going to have sex with you,” Joan clarified. “I’m still tired and want to go back to sleep with you wrapped around me the way that you were when we woke up earlier.”

 

“I’m not tired.”

 

“You’ve been up for days, don’t give me that. I can see the circles under your eyes,” Joan argued. “Besides, you’ve just had an orgasm, and you aren’t used to having orgasms, so you’re probably pretty wiped from that. Just come back to bed with me. Please.”

 

Sherlock looked up at Joan for a moment, so still that Joan was almost concerned about her, when she finally stood and walked back into the bedroom and climbed stark naked back into bed. Joan followed her and waited for Sherlock to settle before curling around her insecure lover and they both fell back to sleep for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing a day, loves! I had an epidemiology midterm this morning and was in the library all day yesterday. Totally slipped my mind to post this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouch.

“I would like to perform cunnilingus on you,” Sherlock said before nibbling on the piece of toast with butter and jam Joan had placed in front of her earlier and taking a sip of her tea.

 

Joan, caught off guard, choked on her own tea and sputtered, “Sorry?”

 

Sherlock fixed her with one of her _surely you aren’t that thick_ looks and said, “Cunnilingus? The act-”

 

“No, you moron, I know what it means,” Joan cut her off. “I just – that was such a Sherlock-y way for you to ask if you could go down on me.”

 

Sherlock bristled. “If you do not wish for me to perform the act on that’s acceptable.”

 

Joan shook her head quickly. “It was just adorable. It was so you.”

 

Huffing, Sherlock asked, “Would you like me to perform the act or not?”

 

“Yes please,” Joan said in her most charming voice.

 

“Splendid,” Sherlock exclaimed, hopping up from her perch on her chair and forcefully dragging Joan out of hers.

 

“Oi, slow down you moron, we aren’t having some sort of race,” Joan protested as Sherlock attempted to rip her arm out of her socket.

 

“But _Joooooooooan_ , I’ve never done this before,” Sherlock whined, pouting her lips in a way that made Joan want to simultaneously scream in frustration and snog her until Sherlock’s knees went out from under her. “Think of how many different combinations of different stimulations I could employ over time to guarantee your most satisfying orgasm? We’re wasting time just _talking_ about this!”

 

“I’m going to overlook the fact that you think this is an experiment and focus on the part where you want to give me the best orgasm imaginable,” Joan grinned.

 

Sherlock stopped. “We agreed. No experiments in bed. This is not an _experiment_ , Joan. This is so much more than that. This is our sex life that I’m referring to, which I assume will be a fairly substantial part of our romantic attachment. It is important to me that you find it as pleasurable as I can possibly make it for you.”

 

“That’s uncharacteristically sweet of you, Sherlock,” Joan replied, somewhat stunned.

 

“I would never experiment on something so important without first obtaining your consent to do so.”

 

“Back to normal, I see. Baskerville?” Joan mentioned, a glint in her eye.

 

“I was using you for the greater good,” Sherlock said, attempting to justify her actions there.

 

“Will you shut up and take me to bed? I believe you used a Latin work for a somewhat filthy sex act in reference to what you wanted to do to me?”

 

“Who’s eager now?” Sherlock sighed, as if she was the only one allowed to be impatient at present.

 

Joan popped up onto the balls of her feet and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. “Come on.”

 

Once they were in the bedroom, Sherlock insisted on positioning Joan on the bed in a particular way in a particular spot. Joan had no idea what she was doing, but she allowed her limbs to become loose and pliant in order to allow Sherlock to do what she needed to do. In the end, Joan ended up flat on her back and slightly to the left of center of the bed, waiting for Sherlock to make her first mood.

 

Of course, Sherlock, being the infuriating little minx she was, decided that after all that moving and shifting the first thing she was going to make Joan do was sit up so she could pull her sweater off. Joan sighed, as if Sherlock had placed all of the world’s burdens upon her shoulders by doing this. Sherlock haughtily removed the think white shirt Joan wore underneath the sweater as well so Joan would grumble less, even though she knew the grumbling was done in good faith.

 

Joan always wore simple undergarments, Sherlock noted. She was a practical woman, and Sherlock had rarely seen her in anything other than a bar close to the color of her flesh and a pair of cotton underwear in the matching color. For someone who wore hideous sweaters on a day to day basis, Joan was meticulous about making sure her bra matched her underwear. When Joan was going on a date where she expected to sleep with a man at the end of the night, she wore a lace black bra with similar underwear. Sherlock could always tell when she wore that one because Joan would always itch around her ribcage where the lace met her skin. When Joan was going on a date where she expected to sleep with a woman at the end of the night, she wore a bra in a soft pink tone, again with the cotton underwear to match. When Sherlock had asked about the distinction, Joan had shrugged and said, “Men are more intrigued by the lace. Besides, when I’m sleeping with a woman for the first time, I don’t want her to think that I’m trying to upstage her with the lingerie I picked out. I’ve found that wearing sexy knickers when sleeping with another woman usually happens when things have progressed a bit more.” Sherlock had taken this information in, not knowing why she did, and for some reason ended up dreaming of Joan in the pink undergarments and nothing else.

 

On this particular day, Joan was wearing one of her bras that matched her skin. Sherlock was almost disappointed by the fact that whenever she saw the bra Joan was wearing, she would always know which underwear went along with it, and vice versa. Nevertheless, she smiled and buried her head in between Joan’s breasts, which were surprisingly large for a woman of her stature. She inhaled deeply and kissed the spot on her sternum just above where the center gore of the bra cut off. Sherlock then worked her way down Joan’s stomach, licking and kissing and nipping lightly all the way down until she reached the top of Joan’s denim. Sherlock turned her eyes up, asking permission to go down more (Joan smiled inwardly at her subconscious’ choice of words), and Joan nodded while running a hand through Sherlock’s long curls. Sherlock unbuttoned the pants and Joan lifted her hips so Sherlock could slide them off for her, taking her socks at the same time.

 

Sure enough, there were matching underwear, and through the cotton Sherlock could see a small wet spot around Joan’s crotch. She licked her lips. _Oh yes_.

 

“You need to be more naked,” Joan demanded. Sherlock, who had practically forgotten she was wearing clothes at all, quickly shed everything except her undergarments.

 

“There,” Joan sighed, pulling Sherlock down so they were practically nose to nose and petting her hair, moving some errant curls behind her ear. “Now we match.”

 

“Boring,” Sherlock retorted and kissed Joan softly, their lips moving but without any intrusion of tongues. She slid a hand under Joan’s body and fiddled with her bra clasp for a moment before it popped free and Sherlock pulled back, helping Joan maneuver herself out of the bra. “That is much better.” Without another word, Sherlock dipped down to bury her face in Joan’s cleavage and sighed, nuzzling the soft mounds of mammary glands and breast tissue and the dusky brown peaks of Joan’s nipples. Quickly, she ducked over to the right one and took it in her mouth, sucking.

 

Joan let out a moan and pressed Sherlock’s head down onto her breast. She absolutely loved when her partner’s played with her nipples, and Sherlock, bless her, had gone straight for the kill.

 

“God, Sherlock, that’s divine,” Joan sighed. She reluctantly untangled a hand from Sherlock’s curls to lightly pinch the neglected nipple that had been standing at attention ever since Sherlock had offered to go down on her.

 

Getting the hint, Sherlock asked, “Do you want me to do that?”

 

“Yes, in a moment,” Joan panted. “Just – just nibble. Barely a scrape of teeth, and then you can move on to the next one.”

 

Sherlock obliged, and Joan gasped and arched up against her. Pleased, Sherlock moved onto the other nipple and moved Joan’s free hand to play with the one she had had in her mouth just a moment earlier. Sherlock slid a hand down in between them and began to run her finger up and down Joan’s slit, which caused Joan’s hips to buck up and her breath to stutter. Sherlock quickly gave the other nipple that small nip that Joan had been looking for, and with a final kiss to each raised bit of flesh she slid her way down to the warm, throbbing space between Joan’s legs once again by placing wet, open mouthed kisses to her abdomen.

 

Eventually, she was on her stomach in between Joan’s thighs and was staring directly at the wet outer part of Joan’s vagina. She pulled back the _labia majora_ and was pleased to find that Joan had been producing what she believed was a fairly substantial about of lubrication.

 

“Joan–” Sherlock sighed.

 

“Take your time,” Joan sighed from her higher point on the bed. “If you aren’t comfortable going down on me, that’s alright.”

 

Sherlock shook her head. “It’s not that. I just- I’ve never seen anything this wonderful on the human body before. You’re remarkable.”

 

Joan’s vision clouded, knowing that for Sherlock that was like an admission of love. She pet at her hair and said, “You’re amazing.”

 

Sherlock didn’t respond. Instead, she placed her nose close to Joan and sniffed just as she had seen – or perhaps felt – Joan do the other morning in the shower. After letting out a hum of satisfaction, Sherlock flattened her tongue and licked up from her perineum to her clitoris. Joan let out a moan that could only be classified as filthy and her hips bucked up once again, but this time into Sherlock’s face.

 

“Shit, sorry,” she panted hastily.

 

“Do shut up, Joan,” Sherlock sighed, stiffening her tongue and working it up and down Joan’s labia and occasionally dipping into her vagina.

 

“Sherlock,” Joan panted after a few minutes of that. “Sherlock, I need you a little higher, love. Please, oh my God, please.”

 

Sherlock looked up at her and cocked an eyebrow.  Joan knew that she had either condemned herself to more teasing or to an attack on her clit that she would be completely unprepared for.

 

It turned out to be the latter. Sherlock’s lips attached to Joan’s clit and she began to suck at it and swirl her tongue around. It was glorious and Joan was going to come fast if Sherlock didn’t stop treating her clit like she treated her-

 

“Bloody fucking hell!” Joan screamed. Sherlock pulled away, her face shocked.

 

Joan had sat up and was now bent double, her fists jammed onto her pubic bone and her breaths coming raggedly. She felt tears coming and was powerless to hold them back because she was in so much damn pain.

 

“Joan,” Sherlock croaked. “Joan, I don’t understand, what happened?”

 

“You bloody bit me, that’s what happened,” Joan shouted. Sherlock curled in on herself, and Joan knew that she would regret this later when she had to coax Sherlock out of her shell, but she was in too much fucking pain right then to care.

 

“I don’t understand, you liked it when I did it to your nipples,” Sherlock stuttered, gripping her curls and pushing on the sides of her head like she did when she couldn’t solve something or she couldn’t figure out just what she had done wrong.

 

“Sherlock, a nipple and a clitoris are two very different things,” Joan gritted out. “A nipple has a lot of nerves, but a clitoris has a _bloody fucking fuckton of nerves_ ,” Joan swore.

 

“Joan. Joan, I’m so sorry. What am I supposed to do?” Sherlock asked, clearly worried.

 

“Check if I’m bleeding,” Joan gulped. Sherlock ducked down and shook her head emphatically. “Good. I need you to go to the freezer and get me a bag of frozen peas right now. Bring that back, and then I want you to bring me the strongest painkiller that we have in the medicine cabinet, I want you to double –hell, triple the recommended dosage, and I want you to bring it here with a glass of water.”

 

Sherlock hopped off the bed and brought Joan the peas at an astonishing pace for someone so inherently lazy. After she had dashed out of the room again, Joan placed the cold bag onto her vagina and moaned in a completely different way than she had been moaning a few minutes earlier. God, she wanted to fucking kill Sherlock, but the woman had had three sexual encounters in her entire life before this one and Joan had been telling her to lightly bite on her nipples. By the time Sherlock had returned with the painkillers and the water, Joan had managed to convince herself that both of them were equally at fault in this situation. Sherlock, however, was convinced otherwise, and tried to run away as soon as Joan had taken all of the pills from her.

 

“Get back in here, you!” Joan called out.

 

Sherlock walked back in slowly, as if she were walking to her death. Joan had managed to scoot back so her back was against the headboard, and she patted the space right next to her. Sherlock looked at it very reluctantly.

 

“Sit down right next to me, Sherlock Holmes,” Joan commanded. Resigned to the fact that this was probably not going to be a fun talk, Sherlock slouched into bed and sat right next to Joan as she had asked, but curled into a ball rather than spread out like Joan was.

 

“Sherlock.” Joan paused, because she had no experience in this area of sexual mishaps. “Sherlock, please don’t worry about this. We’re fine. You made a connection between my nipples and my clit and it wasn’t what you planned. I know you didn’t mean for it to be malicious or to hurt me.”

 

Sherlock didn’t move to look at Joan, but Joan was horrified to hear how thick Sherlock’s voice was. “I hurt you. I have fantasies about finding whoever shot you and killing them with my bare hands. I want to meet everyone who has ever made you feel pain in your life and I want to hurt them. I’m no better than they are, Joan. I fantasize about hurting them, and now I’m just like them.”

 

Joan rubbed her hand up and down Sherlock’s back. “I’m going to let you in on a secret, Sherlock. You’re much better than they are. Do you know why? The man who shot me, the bullies when I was younger, my own bloody brother for Christ’s sake, they all have done those things on purpose. They did things to hurt me. You didn’t. So please, come here and give me a hug, because these painkillers haven’t quite kicked in yet and I need some comfort.”

 

Sherlock slowly unfolded herself and buried her face in Joan’s neck, inhaling deeply. Joan turned her head awkwardly and gave Sherlock a kiss on the crown of her head. They remained like that for a few moments until Joan said, “These peas are melting. Be a lamb and put them back in the freezer before the bed gets wet, then get right back in here.” Sherlock obeyed, and arrived back in the room just as Joan had repositioned herself so she was laying down on the bed. “Come here.” Sherlock obeyed yet again and wrapped herself around Joan tightly, though avoiding Joan’s sore area.

 

As the painkillers kicked in and Joan began to feel loopy and sleepy, she whispered, “I think you’re a star, Sherlock Holmes,” and then fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured I'd put this chapter out there as well before the day is done to keep on schedule and to make up for forgetting a day. If you haven't read chapter three, be sure to read that too.
> 
> Important little note: don't take a triple dose of pain meds, kids. Joan is a doctor. She knows what she's doing. I, on the other hand, won't start medical school for another year and am not. So just don't do it.


	5. Chapter 5

There was a limited amount of sex in the weeks following the biting incident. The day after, Sherlock had interrogated a still incredibly sore Joan about what she was allowed to bite and what was off limits. Sherlock was incredibly thorough, rattling off different body parts and obviously cataloguing whether they fell into the “yes” pile or the “no” pile. If Joan said yes to something, Sherlock asked how hard and just how she wanted to be bitten – would scraping her teeth along the area be satisfactory or did Joan actually want her to bite down? How hard? How long? The whole ritual was rather clinical and at times Joan felt as if she was being interrogated, but this was how Sherlock learned. She knew that Sherlock would be hesitant to experiment after the disaster that had happened the night before (Joan had discovered earlier that Sherlock did have _some_ moral limits when it came to experimenting, and the remark she had made the night before about wanting to hurt the people who had hurt Joan convinced Joan that she had hit one of her very few moral walls), and if she couldn’t experiment in the more hands on method that she normally used, this was going to be her secondary method of experimentation. So Joan went along with it, making sure that Sherlock got all of the information she desired so they could move past this ordeal.

 

Moving past the ordeal was a bit more difficult than they anticipated. Joan was incredibly sore for a few days and didn’t want to be touched. She was more than happy to touch Sherlock, which she did very happily a few times. Sherlock understood why Joan didn’t want her to reciprocate because she could see the way that Joan winced when she moved a certain way. Once Joan had tentatively touched herself and had an orgasm without feeling any pain, she snuggled up to Sherlock on the couch and kissed her neck.

 

Taking one glance at her, Sherlock was able to deduce what she had just done. “You’ve successfully brought yourself to orgasm without any pain?”

 

“Mm-hm,” Joan hummed, craning her head so she could lick at the hollow of Sherlock’s neck. “I don’t think I could take another one right now but I could certainly give you a hand.”

 

Sherlock didn’t respond to her kisses and the light spirals she was tracing on her stomach.

 

“What is it?” Joan asked, puzzled.

 

“Joan, I can’t do this.”

 

Joan pulled back. “Can’t do what, Sherlock?”

 

“I can’t pleasure you in a sexual sense. I don’t want to hurt you again,” Sherlock said blandly.

 

For a moment, Joan was silent, and then burst into peals of laughter. Sherlock looked scandalized. “This isn’t funny.”

 

“No, no, it’s just that I thought you were breaking up with me. That’s a classic breakup line.” Joan continued to giggle into Sherlock’s shoulder.

 

“Oh.” Sherlock resumed her pensive silence. “What I mean to convey, Joan, is that I am uncomfortable giving you sexual pleasure after what happened the other night.”

 

“Okay. Are you comfortable with me still getting you off?” Joan asked.

 

“Yes, but I would feel… I believe what I would be feeling could be classified as guilt if I allowed you to pleasure me and I didn’t do anything in return.” Sherlock fidgeted.

 

“You realize that I have two hands, right Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock looked at her, affronted. “Of _course_ I realize you have two hands, Joan. What type of idiot do you take me for?”

 

“I think you’re a colossal idiot,” Joan smiled. “Did you ever think about the fact that I could be touching you while touch myself as well?”

 

“I was under the impression that masturbatory pleasure is inferior to pleasure provided by a partner,” Sherlock mused.

 

“Yeah, if you don’t know what you’re doing,” Joan replied, resting her elbow on the back of the couch and scratching Sherlock’s scalp. Sherlock leaned into the contact and hummed. “Fortunately I figured out as a pretty small kid that rubbing up against things felt pretty fantastic, so I’ve got a lot more experience in that field than you think.”

 

“I never doubted your sexual abilities, nor did I doubt your penchant for solitary sexual experiences. I simply believed that you did that in order to tide you over until your next sexual encounter, and that you did it with the frequency that you did because it wasn’t as satisfying.”

 

“Well, I won’t deny that there are times where that isn’t enough. When I’ve been really horny for a while and haven’t gotten any, it is more of a method to ensure that I don’t go crazy and it isn’t enough. But most of the time, I do it because I like the feeling of my fingers inside of me, or my hands controlling a toy rather than someone else doing the work for me. I like it because I can do that for myself. I can make myself feel fantastic. It’s empowering, to be perfectly honest.” Joan paused, and when Sherlock didn’t say anything, Joan decided to go on. “Some of the most erotic sex I’ve ever had was when I masturbate with someone else, or when I’m getting someone off and getting myself off at the same time. I feel so in control. That being said, I also like letting someone else have that control if they want it because watching someone do that to themselves while they’re making me feel amazing is gorgeous. It feels like I matter.”

 

“Don’t say that,” Sherlock snapped. “You always matter.”

 

“To you, maybe, but not to everyone else. It just feels fantastic Sherlock. Whether I’m in control or someone else is. I promise.” Joan ended her speech with a kiss to Sherlock’s temple.

 

“What if I never feel confident?” Sherlock asked softly, and Joan’s stomach turned. She hated when Sherlock looked insecure.

 

“Then that will be just fine with me,” Joan replied, completely honestly.

 

Sherlock bowed her head and took a deep breath. “Joan, I would appreciate it if you would provide me with sexual release right now.”

 

Joan smiled into Sherlock’s shoulder. “I would be more than happy to do that. Bedroom?”

 

“No. Here works,” Sherlock answered. Joan cocked an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. She moved Sherlock so she was lying down on the couch, then positioned her legs so Sherlock’s left calf was on the top of the couch and her right foot was on the floor.

 

“What do you want?” Joan asked.

 

“I- I don’t know,” Sherlock answered honestly. “I would like to try penetration but with more than just two of your fingers. I like that, but I want more.”

 

Joan stood. “Don’t move. I’m going to go and grab something.”

 

Joan had this only for special occasions. Sometimes, when she was with a woman, particularly a fairly dominant woman, she loved the stretch of penetration. There were other times where she was with women who wanted to try penetration or they missed it as well. Twice, she had had fairly adventurous boyfriends who she had used it on, once resulting in sheets stained so badly that she had to get rid of them. She wasn’t sure if Sherlock would like this, but it was worth a try.

 

Sherlock had gotten completely naked by the time Joan came back down to the living room, but she had made sure that she was in the position that Joan had left her in.

 

“You’re more than welcome to say no to this,” was all Joan said. She placed the harness with the smaller dildo she had used when she was still a virgin (Why she still had it over twenty years later puzzled her. Perhaps for nostalgia’s sake?) hooked onto it on Sherlock’s stomach. As she spoke, she stripped out of all of her clothes. “It’s relatively small, but if you want me to keep using my fingers that’s alright.”

 

Sherlock picked it up and turned it over in her hands, studying it. “This is old.”

 

“It was my first,” Joan said. “No one has used it other than me.”

 

Sherlock’s gaze fixed on Joan with an intensity that made Joan feel like she was staring into the sun but she couldn’t look away. “I would like to try this.”

 

Joan crawled up and kissed her. “I’ll be gentle, I promise. If it is too much, just say so and we can do something else.”

 

Sherlock nodded, and then she watched in awe as Joan clipped the harness around her hips. “I can’t begin to describe to you how wonderful you look right now.”

 

“Watch it, Holmes. You don’t want me to get too big of a head while I’m wearing this.”

 

Sherlock bit her lip. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She reached out and stroked the dildo. “Will you also have an orgasm from this?”

 

“No,” Joan admitted. “I think I’m still a little too sensitive to have more than one a day at this point, so I adjusted this so the piece that is normally getting me off isn’t touching me. Don’t worry, watching you get off will be more than enough for me.”

 

Sherlock nodded and lay back. “Go ahead then,” she said, gesturing her hand at the object protruding from Joan’s waist.

 

“Oh Sherlock, it doesn’t work like that,” Joan chided. “You have to know by now that I like foreplay. Besides, you need to be nice and wet for this to happen. Foreplay can only help with that.”

 

“Okay,” Sherlock responded, visibly relaxing herself and preparing for the onslaught of sensations that Joan was about to attack her with.

 

Joan kissed her all over. She knew that Sherlock wanted her to focus on her mouth, but Joan had always been a bit of a tease, and although it’s a bit rude to tease the first time you fuck someone, Joan was completely unable to help herself. It took Sherlock moaning, “Joan, _please_ ” for her to move up to her mouth. Sherlock let out a content noise halfway between a moan and a sigh and wrapped her arms around Joan’s neck to hold her in place. As an apology of sorts for teasing, Joan allowed Sherlock to snog her for as long as she wanted. That is, as long as she wanted until Joan snaked a hand down to stroke Sherlock’s folds, which were wet. Sherlock gasped.

 

“Please,” Joan sighed, asking permission to pull away.

 

Sherlock nodded, and Joan sat back on her heels. She reached down onto the floor and grabbed the bottle of lube that she had brought down with the strap-on.

 

“I thought you said I’d be wet enough like this. Did I do something wrong?” Sherlock asked.

 

Joan silenced her with another kiss, a soft, closed mouth one this time. “Not at all. It just never hurts to have a bit of lube on hand just in case.” Sherlock visibly relaxed again, and Joan squirted a bit of the lube onto her hand and spread it all over the dildo. Sherlock watched intently, and Joan couldn’t tell if she was nervous or simply intrigued. When she felt it was sufficiently covered, she looked for something to wipe her hand with, and decided that the cotton shirt she was wearing under her sweater was sufficiently washable and scrubbed her hand with it.

 

“Ready?” Joan asked.

 

Sherlock nodded.

 

Joan reached down and grabbed the base of the dildo. She ran it up and down Sherlock’s crotch a few times in order to let Sherlock acclimate herself with the material of the toy, and finally she stopped at her vaginal opening.

 

“Ready,” Joan asked, almost breathless. Sherlock nodded. “Bear down as I go in. I promise to go slowly.”

 

Joan began the steady press of the dildo into Sherlock’s body. Sherlock gasped as the head of the dildo slid in, and Joan stared at her to make sure she wasn’t in pain. It wasn’t an expression of pain, much to her relief, but more one of awe. Joan was all too familiar with the fantastic moment when someone first entered her and loved the gasp she always let out as she acclimated herself to the stretch and the wonderful burn of something inside of her. She kept going, making sure that she maintained the same rate of movement, until all five inches were buried inside of Sherlock.

 

Sherlock craned her neck up to look at the spot where Joan was pressed up against her, almost as if she was amazed that Joan had put something inside of her. After staring for a moment, Sherlock said, “Well, what are you waiting for? Move.”

 

Joan rolled her eyes at how positively _Sherlock_ that statement was, but she began to slowly roll her hips, not taking the dildo out too much each time. She waited for the moment of give, that moment where Sherlock had completely adjusted to her being inside of her to lengthen her thrusts and pound a little bit harder. Sherlock gasped, and Joan smiled.

 

“Harder. Joan, I can take more. _Harder_ ,” Sherlock demanded.

 

“Sherlock, I don’t-”

 

“Damn it, Joan, I want you to push me!”

 

Joan stopped. “I’m not pushing you too hard this time. A little later, maybe. Work with me here.”

 

Sherlock sighed. “Fine.”

 

Joan was shocked that Sherlock agreed so readily, but she wasn’t going to argue. She just grabbed the backs of Sherlock’s thighs and said, “Hook these around my shoulders and tilt your pelvis up.”

 

Sherlock did as she was told, and Joan asked, “Ready?” Sherlock nodded. “Great.”

 

Joan began to move fairly quickly. She forgot the fact that she wasn’t receiving any sexual stimulation from this and got lost in the sound of skin slapping on skin and the moans Sherlock was making that sounded like they were being physically torn from her throat. Sherlock was close, but she clearly knew she was missing something and didn’t know what it was. Joan, however, knew exactly what Sherlock was missing and reached a hand in between them to run her finger in a circle around Sherlock’s clit. Sherlock shot up and let out a moan at that, and it was that that caused her to meet each of Joan’s thrusts into her. It wasn’t long before Joan could feel Sherlock clenching around the dildo. She was close, so Joan leaned down and gave her neck a little nip, and that was what it took for Sherlock to have her orgasm.

 

Sherlock lay prone on the couch. Joan slowly pulled out of her and undid the harness. She wiped it off with the shirt she had used as a towel before, and then she gently wiped Sherlock off. Sherlock reached out for her, and Joan leaned into her body once she had finished cleaning up. Sherlock made a noise that sounded almost like a purr, then she sighed and Joan could feel her fall asleep. Realizing she was trapped by Sherlock’s arms, Joan resigned herself to the fact that she was going to take a nap and fell asleep using Sherlock’s small chest as a pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap-ons are really, really fun yo. For me. Maybe not for you. But for me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan Is Sexually Frustrated: The Epilogue

Sherlock was bouncing around a crime scene looking like a child on Christmas. Lestrade was shaking his head, having given up the speech about being careful and respecting the dead years ago. Instead, he moved over to Joan and asked, “What’s it like, dating a Holmes?”

 

Joan was slightly taken aback. “Why do you want to know?”

 

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. “Just curious, I guess.” Joan fixed him with a look and he sighed and said, “Fine, I’ve been thinking of asking her brother out and I just wanted to know what to expect.”

 

“You do realize they’re different people, Greg,” Joan commented, not letting her face show her surprise at this newfound side of Greg’s sexuality.

 

“Yeah, I know, but-” Lestrade dragged a toe through the gravel they were standing on. “Alright, stop me if I’m getting too personal, but I really like him. I mean _really_ like him. I haven’t felt this way before and Christ I sound like a teenager again.” Lestrade ran his hands over his face and he sighed. “I haven’t felt this way before with anyone. Not even the ex and I was certain with her. I know that they’re different people but their personalities are similar in some ways. If I cock it up once I don’t think I would get a second chance with him and that would kill me. That is, assuming that I get a chance at all.”

 

“Are you asking me how you go about asking another man out, because it really isn’t all that different from asking a woman out,” Joan asked.

 

“I’ve asked men out before,” Lestrade confessed. “I was a bit of a slut back in the day, and I didn’t discriminate depending on gender.”

 

“We’re in the same boat with that one,” Joan smirked.

 

Lestrade laughed, clearly a bit more relaxed. “I’m rusty at asking anyone out, but that’s something I can overcome. I just want to make sure that I don’t say or do something that might put him off. You know how he always has that metaphorical wall around him? In the last few months he’s started lifting it slowly around me, as if he were feeling me out. I don’t want to fuck something up and have those walls drop back down again.”

 

“You soppy bastard,” Joan chuckled. “Has he told you what he likes doing in his spare time?”

 

“Somewhat,” Lestrade said. “He’s had me out for dinner a few times to discuss Her Majesty over there, but that conversation is usually really brief and we always end up talking about…” Greg trailed off. “Fuck. He’s been trying to date me for months now, hasn’t he?”

 

“I’m not aware of the courting patterns of the British Government, but I would say yes to that,” Joan nodded. “Maybe you should extend the offer to him.”

 

Sherlock had swanned over by this point and said, “Oh for fuck’s sake, Lestrade, you’re being a larger idiot than you normally are. If you asked him on a date my brother would say yes. Stop being such a child and grow a pair.”

 

“Yes, thank you, Sherlock, I’ll count on your _extensive_ and expert dealings with other humans for sound advice, shall I?” Lestrade replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. As soon as he had said it, he clearly knew it was the wrong thing to say. Sherlock straightened a bit and her face went blank. “Fuck, Sherlock, I’m sorry-”

 

“Check to see if the sister has a handgun,” Sherlock said coldly.

 

“She doesn’t-”

 

“Check adoption records. You’ll find twins who were split at birth. One went to a well-off family, the other didn’t. Find the one who didn’t and see if she had access to a handgun.” With a swish of her coat, Sherlock strode out of the room, stepping over the body as she did so.

 

Lestrade sagged.

 

“Come by tomorrow and fix this,” Joan said coldly, then she stalked away, making sure to steer clear of the body.

 

“Joan!” Lestrade called.

 

Joan turned.

 

“Tell her I’m really sorry, and thanks for the advice.”

 

Joan nodded, and then she went to go chase after Sherlock.

 

Joan didn’t have very far to go to catch up to Sherlock. Sherlock was waiting for her at the crosswalk, hands in her pockets and staring off towards the river.

 

“Sherlock,” Joan said gently, approaching her slowly. “Sherlock what he said was wrong.”

 

“No he wasn’t,” Sherlock answered quickly.

 

“Yes he-”

 

“No he _wasn’t_ Joan, and you know it!” Sherlock spat. “I know nothing about people or what they want or need. I know how their bodies work and what motivates them to do certain things, but I don’t know anything about people.”

 

“Well, what about me?” Joan asked, half-afraid of what the answer was going to be.

 

Sherlock turned to look at her. “You aren’t a person. You’re _Joan_ , and that is much more than being a person. That’s- that’s-” Sherlock grunted, yanking at her curls. “That’s something so much better that I don’t have a word for. It’s a locked door triple homicide. It’s tea the way you make it. It’s fresh honey from bees that have been raised in our backyard. “

 

Joan was frozen with her mouth open like an idiot. When she tried to say something monumental like Sherlock had just said, what came out was, “We don’t have a backyard to raise bees in.”

 

“Not _now_ , idiot, when we retire to the home my parents are leaving me in Sussex,” Sherlock scoffed, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “Now-”

 

She was cut off by Joan launching herself at Sherlock and wrapping her arms around her neck as she snogged her senseless. She didn’t let up at the noise of protest Sherlock made and didn’t stop until someone in a car honked at them.

 

“What was that for?” Sherlock asked, red faced and disheveled.

 

“That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, Sherlock,” Joan replied, her voice thick.

 

Sherlock cocked her head. “I’m not nice.”

 

Joan sniffed. “Yes you are, Sherlock. You’re lovely and I want to go home and have sex with you right now. Hail a cab.”

 

“Joan-”

 

“ _Sherlock Holmes hail a fucking cab_ ,” Joan growled.

 

Sherlock stuck out her arm quickly in a shocking display of obedience and a cab screeched up to them. The clambered in and someone said the address and then they were making out in the back of the cab. Joan drew Sherlock as close as she could to her and Sherlock cupped Joan’s cheek. Their tongues twisted together gently until they broke apart, panting. Sherlock nudged her nose against Joan’s and they both giggled like little children. They didn’t make out at the intensity they were at a when they got into the cab, but they stayed in the same position, their foreheads pressed together and their lips occasionally pressed together in closed mouth kisses. They kissed gently until the cabbie cleared his throat, alerting them to the fact that they were a block from their flat. They righted their clothes and smoothed down their hair, and Sherlock threw a substantial amount of bills at the cabbie so he wouldn’t shout something rude at them, then they raced to the front door and sprinted up the stairs to their flat ripping their clothes off along the way.

 

By the time they got to the bed, Joan only had her left sock and Sherlock’s shirt was hanging on by one sleeve. Sherlock pushed Joan onto the bed and straddled above her with a predatory grin on her face. Before Joan could even make a move, Sherlock was kissing her again and her bones were turning into mush. She sank into the bed and suddenly Sherlock’s lips weren’t on hers anymore. Joan made a grunt of displeasure but before she could drag Sherlock back to her, Sherlock was attacking her neck with such ferocity that Joan could feel the beginnings of bruises forming.

 

“Sherlock,” Joan panted, her body arched up into Sherlock’s. She grabbed at Sherlock’s shoulder blades and to push them together and she just needed _more_. She moaned and said, “Sherlock, I need you to touch me, I need you to touch me _now_.”

 

Sherlock froze. “Joan, I can’t. I can’t hurt you again.”

 

“Look at me, you consulting idiot,” Joan demanded. Sherlock slowly tipped her head up and looked at her. “I trust you. You’re allowed.”

 

Sherlock heaved a large sigh and kissed Joan’s nose. “If you’re sure…”

 

“I wouldn’t bring it up if I wasn’t sure. Put your bloody fingers in my cunt and frig me,” Joan growled.

 

Sherlock _tsked_ and said, “Such language” before swooping down and running the middle and index finger of her right hand from the bottom of Joan’s slit to the top. Joan gasped, and then let out a moan like she was dying when Sherlock immediately stuck those two fingers inside of her. If anything, Sherlock was an incredibly fast learner and knew what to do from cataloguing what Joan had done to her and learning from her own mistakes. She twisted her fingers as she plunged them in and out of Joan’s cunt and Joan felt as if she was being taken apart with every single thrust. Sherlock then moved her other finger down and teased her clit with light, fluttering touches until Joan pushed her hips down to get Sherlock further inside of her and to gain more friction against her clit. Sherlock got the message and applied more pressure, albeit light pressure, to her clit, and flipped her fingers up and made a “come hither” motion with her fingers. Joan’s hands scratched against the sheets, desperate for something to cling onto, so Sherlock took mercy on her and moved up her body and kissed her, all the while keeping her fingers moving. Joan grabbed her back hard, and if she wasn’t so close she would feel guilty about the bruises that were probably going to form from her fingers digging in so hard, but her world had narrowed down to Sherlock’s fingers inside of her and Sherlock’s lips on hers. She began to clench on her fingers and Joan knew that she was going to come in the next thirty seconds. Sherlock could sense this and pulled back with a bite to Joan’s lower lip and then dipped her head down to lick the shell of Joan’s ear and whisper:

 

“ _I love you_.”

 

That was it. Joan was dying. Surely this was what dying was like. Rapture, bliss, that perfect moment where your girlfriend made her come for the first time and told Joan what she already knew but still craved to hear.

 

It was gone soon, with small waves of pleasure crashing over her every once in a while as the last of the nerves Sherlock was touching told her neurons that yes, they were incredibly happy. She closed her eyes and panted, gasping desperately for breath as she lay prone in the middle of the bed. Joan felt Sherlock removing her fingers gently and sliding up the bed to lay on her side next to her. When she was able to move, she turned to see Sherlock looking at her and biting her lip almost nervously, as if she was worried that something had gone wrong and Joan had been crying out in intense pain and not pleasure.

 

“You are fantastic,” Joan panted, tucking an errant curl of Sherlock’s behind her head.

 

“I did it right?” Sherlock perked up. “Oh, fantastic! There are so many other things I want to explore!” She hopped up and repositioned herself in between Joan’s still spread legs.

 

“Too sensitive, Sherlock,” Joan sighed. “That will actually hurt.”

 

“Oh.” Sherlock sagged a bit, and Joan could practically hear her screaming at herself internally because she had done something wrong again.

 

“Come back up here,” Joan sighed, flapping her arms somewhat uselessly because she still felt boneless. Sherlock stretched herself out on top of Joan’s body. “You’re learning, Sherlock. Don’t worry about it. Thank you for what you just did. It was fantastic. Honestly.”

 

Sherlock’s pointy chin rested in between Joan’s breasts, and Joan was so blissed out and well-fucked that she didn’t even mind the slight pain it was causing. “I’m pleased you enjoyed it.”

 

Joan laughed, her body shaking, which led to Sherlock shaking as well, which made her giggle. “You’re a wonder, Sherlock.” Sherlock’s face went pink and she lowered her eyes. Joan scratched her head lazily and sighed, “I love you too.”

 

At that, Sherlock full-on buried her face in Joan’s cleavage. She stayed there for a few minutes, letting Joan scratch her head before Joan pulled her up more for a lazy snog. Soon after that began, Joan began to regain feeling in her limbs and had the ability to roll Sherlock over so she was laying on top of her.

 

Joan pulled back and Sherlock’s eyes were widened in surprise. Joan crept backwards and said in her most sultry voice, “My turn…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end!
> 
> I was trolling the femlock tag and I found this art and it is exactly how I have imagined John Watson in female form for about a year. It is gorgeous.
> 
> http://felixandria.tumblr.com/post/77223506078
> 
>  
> 
> I fucking hate it when they say "I love you" especially during sex I'm really fucking sorry self for doing that.


End file.
